


drunk

by brainyisalwayssexy



Category: Bollywood RPF, Khoobsurat
Genre: F/M, Old Upload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 12:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainyisalwayssexy/pseuds/brainyisalwayssexy
Relationships: Milli/Vikram, Mrinalini Chakravarty/Vikram Singh Rathore
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	drunk

Getting Vikku drunk tonight has been one of her finest accomplishments as of late.

Which, Milli realizes in retrospect, probably says something about what her priorities are.

But whatever.

It’s not the drinking itself, however, that is as fun as is the discussion they've been having for the last two hours. It’s been a while since they've caught up (work on both their ends has made things difficult). And so here they are, on opposite ends of a balcony sofa and with only a single wine bottle as company, where they’ve been playing a game of sorts, asking strange questions to the other to spark discussion. The topics have ranged from incredibly philosophical questions like _What Is Life Really About?_ and_ Is There A God?_, to stupider questions like _What Is Your Favorite Cereal?_ and _If You Try to Fail, and Succeed, Which Have You Done?_. The alcohol helps them both open up, and as the night drags on, both profound moments of insight and mindless hilarity ensue.

Not to mention, getting him inebriated means it’s far easier to ogle him all night without him really noticing. That’s not why she got him drunk though.

…OK, maybe a _little_ bit of the reason why.

In her defense, with his black sherwani suit, he looks _really_ hot tonight. But then again, he always does.

Of course, he’s been checking her out, too, when he thinks she isn’t looking. She _did_ wear these tiny shorts for a reason, after all.

But they’re both drunk and enjoying themselves, so it’s casual.

Now it’s back to the game, AKA it’s Milli’s turn, which means it’s time to ask Vikku a stupid and/or utterly inappropriate question and hopefully catch him off-guard. She ponders it for a minute before she asks him.

“What body parts do you find most _appealing_? On me?”

“Appealing?” His eyebrows scrunch in confusion. Ugh, he’s still so hot even when he’s clueless. _Goddamnit._

“Sexy. Attractive.Whatever.” she clarifies.

He takes a moment to process that.

“For me it’s your abs and your shoulders and your back.” she tells him quickly. “Now you.”

He looks mildly embarrassed as he begins: “OK, for me it’s your legs…”

“I know that.” she interrupts him with a slight smirk, and she rubs her near-bare legs together as obviously as possible before letting him continue.

He blinks out of his trance and finishes his thought .“…and your waist and your lips.” he ends quickly.

“Ohhh…. my _lips_.” she says, eyes widening with recognition. Now_ this_ is new information.

He looks like he already regrets telling her that. _Haha._

She grins at him saucily and edges closer. If he could’ve edged _off _of the sofa, he probably would’ve, but he’s drunk, the sofa is small, and she suddenly has mischief on her mind.

“You like my lips, that’s _very_ nice.” she practically purrs at him. “Now tell me, Vikku…” – she lets her eyes lazily flutter halfway closed, runs a hand down his cheek, and lets her voice drop to a whisper before she continues– “…do you want to kiss me?”

He contemplates it for not half a second before his breath husks to a low whisper, and then he replies simply, “–Yes.”

That does it for her.

She glances around the balcony quickly. The Rani hasn’t come up for almost two hours.

She can probably wait another five minutes, Milli figures.

Then, without so much as a second thought, she scoots onto Vikram’s lap and kisses him full on the mouth.

At any other time, he probably would’ve gotten flustered, or cautioned her against what they were risking. And he wouldn’t be wrong– the last thing either of them needs is to be caught by the Rani or the servants, piss drunk and making out on the balcony sofa.

But the alcohol makes them both a bit too bold for their own good. So instead, the prince immediately kisses her back. She lets her fingers tangle in his hair, and he lets out a soft, breathy groan before he cups her hips and wraps her legs around him so she’s straddling him.

She’s kissed him – well, not a thousand times, nowhere near that, thanks to work, but still a couple of times – and yet, she still feels her heart jump into her chest when she finally closes that space, when she feels his lips on hers, when his mouth opens underneath her own like second nature.

She latches onto him as he moves under her and just revels in the pure physicality of it all: his tongue in her mouth as the kiss deepens, his chest right up against hers, his hands gripping at her waist like a vice. She lets herself focus on the way he languidly kisses her back, lazy and understated, but with a steady rhythm that grows firmer, deeper, and needier with each passing second. She can taste the heady wine on his lips, but she’s mostly drunk on the way he moves into her like clockwork, the way his rhythm matches hers perfectly, the way every touch leaves her craving more .

His mouth opens under hers as he comes back for air, and as he does, he makes the soft gasp she likes to hear so much, the one she swears she could never tire of hearing.

And so she kisses him again. And again. And again. Just like that, she feels herself grow more reckless, more daring. Her breaths grow shorter, the kisses grow more and more feverish.

He breaks away for a moment to pull her hair back, and she shivers as the night air touches her neck. He moves in to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, and she groans against his touch when she feels him pull her shirt down to expose a bare shoulder, before pressing kisses there, too. She presses her eyes shut and takes it in, a blissful smile on her lips as she floats in a mini euphoria. It’s been too damn long.

She finally gets down from the clouds, and he cups her face before he hungrily recaptures her lips. She shifts closer to him, and suddenly the kiss becomes more desperate and needy because _Oh God!_ she hasn’t seen him in forever and _Damn!_ she’s missed the taste of his lips, the light scratchiness of his stubble, the swell of his muscles as he pulls her closer still.

Her want feels like a physical ache, growing inside of her, and she tries to satisfy as best as she can. His sherwani suit doesn’t offer much in terms of access, but she touches and presses against him needily anyway, and with each passing second she finds herself drowning further in the overwhelming need to kiss harder, get closer, wind _tighter_.

At last, she grips his shoulders and rocks her hips deliberately into him. He growls into her mouth when he feels her moving and settles his hands on her waist to help her move into a steady rhythm. Then there’s nothing but the sound of their own heavy breathing and gasps and the occasional swear word invariably dropped as she kisses and rocks into him.

She can’t help herself as she gives in to the countless swirling sensations tugging her in a thousand different directions, and she moans loudly into his mouth.

Just then, he breaks away and claps a hand over her lips. _Listen._

Her eyes widen in recognition as she realizes what sound she’s hearing 

Footsteps. Coming up the stairs.

Very… _royal_ footsteps.

It can’t be… holy _shit._

This would be a good time to get off of his lap, she reasons.

They manage to share one mutual look of _shit shit shit_ and just about jump away from each other, before standing up and helping straighten each other out. She fixes his hair, which looks inappropriately sexy from the way she ruffled it (it’s a tragic loss, really) and straightens his suit. He fixes her shirt and covers her shoulder again, and then they quickly reposition themselves on the sofa, sitting as far away from each other as possible. She tosses him a pillow to strategically keep on his lap and kicks the now-empty wine bottle underneath the sofa.

The challenge right now is to not act super drunk and not look out of breath in front of the Rani. More importantly, Milli realizes, she has to act like she hadn’t just been drunkenly making out with/groping her son on a balcony. All right. She can do it. Maybe.

Of course, the Queen sweeps into the room hardly two seconds later.

“Hi Rani saa!” she says a little too brightly._ Shit. _“Just wear a sign on your head Milli, why don’t you?”, she thinks to herself.

The Rani, luckily, doesn’t seem to consider this anything out of the ordinary.

Milli’s usually too loud anyway, so perhaps this is not new.

“Hi, what are you two doing?” the Rani asks. So far, she seems unassuming. But the Rani can be tricky, too.

“Oh, just… talking.” Milli replies. She hopes the Rani can’t call her bluff.

“You know, we just haven’t seen each other for a bit.” Milli continues. Wow. That sounded lame even to her own ears.The Rani turns to Vikram, who just nods in affirmation before clearing his throat and engaging in some pleasant small talk, in hopes of allaying his mother’s concerns.

Off to the side, Milli’s _this close_ to screaming from frustration. The Rani’s timing is _awful_.In fact, she would very much like to throw herself off the balcony right now. Pretty much anything sounds better other than sitting here and talking to her soon-to-be mother-in-law right after she’d nearly caught them halfway through their drunken tryst. She tries not to think about it, and she has frankly no idea how Vikram’s holding up so well. Milli crosses her legs to relieve some of the tension and desperately hopes the Rani doesn’t notice anything.

The Rani turns back to her now, evidently convinced by whatever Vikram told her.

“All right.” she says. “It’s just that I thought I… _heard _something.” she says delicately.

Milli swears she almost turns red to her roots. Oh god. _No way_. Please please _please_ no.

She totally knows.

The Rani continues as nonchalantly as she can manage. “The noise, it sounded rather_ loud_, a bit muffled … like a small animal, maybe?” She hangs onto the ruse for a second longer before her eyes narrow, and she turns back to them.

“_Shaadi se pehle nahin_.” she says firmly.

Her eyes glint dangerously as she continues: “And not on that sofa. It’s an antique, _if you don’t mind_.” 

Milli turns even redder, and she didn’t think that was possible. The Rani has no chill. Seriously.

She thanks her lucky stars it’s not worse than this.

The matter is settled, and with that, the queen turns on her heel and walks out.

They watch her leave, dumbfounded and wordless. _Damn._

Back on the balcony, Milli is at a loss with how to deal with this delicate situation. This is the first time they’ve ever gone so far and then been _interrupted_, and by the Queen no less, and the whole thing has left her half-giddy and half-frustrated, but mostly the latter.

So what now? Do they shake hands and walk away? Exchange high fives? Pick up exactly where they left off, palace staff and Rani be damned?

Well, the sofa IS an antique…

She turns to him awkwardly.

“We should…” she says, struggling for the right words.

“Yeah. Definitely.” he nods in assent.

Wordlessly, they both get up and clear up the clutter, taking care not to touch each other or make eye contact. Everything is still really weird.

After clearing up, they both make for the exit.

At the last minute, he changes his mind and catches her wrist before pulling her into a sudden, fierce kiss. She melts into him and kisses him hungrily before she finally forces herself to pull away for air.

He leans his forehead on hers and focuses on catching his breath before he finally speaks.

“This won’t be the last time.” he promises quickly.

She smirks and grabs him roughly by his suit collar before turning to whisper in his ear.

“It damn well better not be.” she husks.

He groans softly and curses under his breath.

“Soon?” he mutters.

“Soon.” she affirms.

She leaves another lingering kiss on his lips and gives him a wink and a cheeky grin.

He lets her go, gives her one last, longing gaze, and then –

“Good night.”

She smiles at him.

“‘Night, Vikku”, she chirps.

He smiles and turns and walks out the door. She watches him go, a grin still playing on her lips.

Next time – whenever that is – she’s gonna blow his mind.

Just not on the sofa, she corrects herself quickly.

Because it’s an _antique._


End file.
